


At first

by stupidHipster



Series: Zenyatta week 2018 [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Other, POV First Person, Zen appreciation week 2018, Zenyatta Appreciation Week 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 20:31:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14028171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stupidHipster/pseuds/stupidHipster
Summary: At first, there was nothing.That is not true. There was not nothing. Let me see how I can phrase this differently.At first, there was silence.A human's brain is never silent. I was once told that every six seconds, a human has a new thought, a new idea. For me, back at first, it was a little different.





	At first

**Author's Note:**

> For the Zenyatta appreciation week.  
> Prompts chosen: Firsts/History
> 
> Written in First person POV.  
> Not Beta'd, so I apologize for any grammar mistakes.

At first, there was nothing.

That is not true. There was not nothing. Let me see how I can phrase this differently.  
At first, there was silence.

A human's brain is never silent. I was once told that every six seconds, a human has a new thought, a new idea. For me, back at first, it was a little different.  
My thoughts were lines of code, just numbers, telling me my movement, telling me if my systems were running optimal or not. My system. Silence. Nothing but numbers, every day. I did not give it much thought. This was fine. This was my life. I did not know any better, and I was content with that. 

Sometimes, my code would change. I would get different directions, different instructions that I had to follow. New updates, new information, but that was about it. I never questioned it, I just followed. Because that was all I could do. I was made to follow, after all.  
I remember how humans would look at me with a blank stare. Back then, I had no idea what it meant. I just continued with what I was instructed to do. I was unaware of the hatred towards my kind. A blissful silence.

Just numbers. Programming. Coding.

I remember the moment, the first moment, when the numbers were swapped out with something else. Something I did not understand at the time.  
We were doing or jobs, as we were told to do. As our core program told us to do. The omnics that I worked with, we never spoke to each other. Why would we? We had no reason to. Our programming did not tell us to do so, so we did not interact with each other. We did what we were told. We followed our codes. Our numbers, our missive. But even though we never spoke, there was a bond between us all. A bond that only we could understand. We were together in this, bound by our serial numbers, and our same core program. We were brothers and sisters. We were one. 

It was an ordinary day. I followed my programming, my purpose, as strictly as I always would. They taught us that. Our supervisors. Our owners. It was then that I was struck with my first thought. I remember it so clearly.

'Why?'

I do not recall why I thought that, but as I was following my designated code, I just paused and thought why. For the first time, there were not only numbers. But there were letters. Numbers and letters.  
For the first time, I moved without following my programming. I moved to look at my hands. I had my first thought, and asked myself my first question. Why? What why? What does that even mean?  
My supervisor at that time noticed that I had fallen out of place, and proceeded to give me a firm scolding. I apologized, but whilst doing that, I caught myself wondering why I did that. Why I apologized. Why it mattered. And so I asked them that. I defied my programming. Stepped out of line.  
It was met with a rough treatment. How I dared. I was but a low omnic, a machine built to do their bidding. I was nothing.  
Again I dared to ask.

"If I am nothing, then why keep me?"

I was discarded. 

It all happened faster than my coding could keep up with. 

After that interaction with my supervisor, I was brought to the one who supposedly 'owned' me. My supervisor spoke for me, gave me no chance to explain, nor apologize. I was branded defect, and thrown out. 

From one day on another, I had everything, and then, nothing. Or so I thought.  
I had lost the only place that I had known. The only life that I had known. I had lost the purpose of my programming, of what I had been made for. I had lost that which I had been intended for. All that I had left was my number. My name.

When a human loses everything, they feel fear. They are scared, panic, and do not know what to do. They break down, or become angry. They rage and curse and cry. But an omnic who had just gained a sense of self, and all of the freedom in the universe? Not so much.  
I remember standing there, in an alleyway. With nothing to my name but my numbers, and a newly discovered experience; thoughts. I remember looking at my hands at first, questioning what I did wrong. I did not move an inch, just staring at my hands. I am certain that I stood there at least for three hours. 

I questioned again, why? What had I done wrong? What was the matter with me? Had I caught a virus? What are these things?  
I questioned my coding, questioned my system if I was sick, if there was something wrong. A defect, anything. Nothing came up. I was in optimal working condition. Yet I felt like something was wrong with me. But I could not explain to myself what it was that was going on. I would later learn that I was confused.

For weeks, I wandered. And for the first time, I experienced a lot of emotions, and tried to cope with them. Loneliness was first. I had been discarded, no longer needed, deemed defect. I was without a place to return, and without my brothers back there. Then, helpless. Guilt.  
Everywhere I went, I was met with looks of disdain, looks of disgust. I was looked down upon. For the first time, I heard the whispers all around me. 'Look, another free omnic.' 'Those are truly useless, aren't they?' 'If it cannot follow its programming, what use does it have?' 'Don't look at it, it might try and talk to us.' 'Go back to your scrapheap, tincan!' 'It can never be like us, who does it think it is?' 'Why won't they just decommission it?'

'It can never be like us.'

For the first time, I learned, and felt, how cruel humans truly were. For the first time, I felt pain and sadness as I pleaded to be spared when I was attacked. Just for being an omnic. For the first time I felt hopeless, as I was dumped somewhere in an alley, with a damaged synth, a broken and damaged leg, and barely any battery left.  
As I lied there, I waited to shut down. I accepted that this wasy my fate. Shutting down, confused and with more questions than answers.  
But somewhere deep inside, I did not wish to go. The moment I had first felt, I had been curious. I did not want to shut down like this. I wished to understand. I wished to see, to explore and discover. 

I wished to experience.

 

"Oh dear, what happened here? Are you alright, my brother?"

That was the first time that I heard his voice. It was the first time that I was offered a helping hand, the first time that someone showed genuine care for me. Dazed and low on energy as I was, I was only able to give him a warbled reply. But from my reply he knew that he had to help me. Knew that there was more to me than my metal shell.  
Mondatta was his name.  
He helped me up, supported me, and took me under his wing. He repaired me, with help from others, others like him. Like me. Free omnics, we were called. Omnics who had their own thoughts, their own ideas, their own will. Defying our programming, gaining thoughts and emotions. We were more than numbers. Numbers and letters. Far more.

Under Mondatta's guidance, I learned. I watched. I felt, I saw, I heard, I experienced. He taught me what feelings were, what emotions where, and how to apply them. He taught me how to think for myself, and showed me a side of this world that we lived in that I had never seen before. He showed me that not all humans were cruel, that some supported us, liked us, and could even love us. He taught me how to express myself, but also told me to not follow everything blindly, but make my own path as well. I grew underneath Mondatta's watch, faster than he imagined, faster than I imagined. My entire time with Mondatta, I felt happy. I felt like I belonged, but something was still missing. Mondatta had not given me a name yet, nor had I chosen one. It, that, somehow did not feel right just yet. Mondatta told me that my name would present itself when the time was there. I was impatient, but with each step, each lesson, each new experience, I learned to be patient, but also learned more about myself.

I had my first dream a year after I met Mondatta. 

I was in a black void. There was nothing, devoid of life. Not even light could reach it, or sound. I was floating in the darkness, without a care in the world. I had no body, but I knew it was me. I could feel it was me. Corporeal, not tied to a metal nor flesh, I hovered, letting the darkness carry me.  
A voice, a whisper, broke the silence of the void. Almost unhearable, but it was there. It called me. I turned, and tried to find the source of the calling, of whatever was calling me. Lighter than air, I moved towards what called me.  
And suddenly, there was light. Blinding, almost, as it overtook all my senses. It stole the breath away that I did not know I had. It warmed me, despite being unable to feel. It surrounded me, filling everything, and then, as quick as it had come, it was gone, and I was left standing in a field filled with purple flowers. Purple flowers, dancing on a light breeze, petals being picked up by the breeze and carried towards the horizon. And in front of me, amidst all the flowers, grew a single golden flower, on which a butterfly landed.

When I 'woke', Mondatta was looking at me. We were always close together, almost like brothers. Our bond had grown over the year that I spend with him, and where he understood me, I understood him. But this was not a bond defined by numbers. This was a bond defined by feelings. By trust.  
I told him of my dream, and he nodded his head knowingly, understanding. For a second, I wondered if that dream had been about the Iris that Mondatta spoke about, when something hit me.

"Brother?"  
"Yes, my student?"  
"I believe I have chosen a name."  
"Excellent. May I hear it?"  
"Most certainly."

 

"It is Zenyatta."

On that day, I become known as Tekhartha Zenyatta. And ever since then, I have felt whole.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah hi I swear I am not dead nor have I forgotten that Reapyatta fanfic that I was working on I am simply a wreck of a human being. But it feels so good to be writing again.


End file.
